“Oh, that,” I muttered. “And for those of us that are not frigg’n M.D.s or centuries old ‘know it all’ gingers — that would mean?”
“It turns muscle into bone,” she drolly replied.
“Holy shit.”
“On that note,” Rooster chimed in, “As an added bonus, I’m pretty sure the Nepheralyzer also results in complete loss of any and all bodily functions. Just spray the bastards in the face and let it work its magic.”
“That’s brilliant,” Erin said. “Awesome!”
“Wow,” I grumbled. “You really out did yourself this time, buddy. Can’t wait to see that one in action. Maybe we should give it a try. You up for a live field test?”
As his eyes flashed red for a second, I decided we should probably just get back to business and proceed with the next phase of Erin’s indoctrination process.
But, for the record — the thought of watching Rooster projectile shite himself for a solid two minutes while trying his damnedest to chase me around the Dreghorn with his muscles fused together was really hard to pass up.
Really, really hard.
“Alright, now that you’ve turned Doc into the Charlie’s Angels version of Chuck Norris with a side of Batman — Let’s start with the basics. Nephers are nothing more than hybrid beings originating from the blasphemous breeding of fallen angels and—”
“Human women,” Erin said impatiently, as she rather rudely cut me off mid-sentence. “I know. Their offspring were the biblical giants of legend and lore which the Guild refers to as anakim. Of particular note, the unnatural union of angel and human created more than just giants. It resulted in the introduction of a new strand of hybrid DNA which permeated the gene pool of mankind through cross breeding and mutation over generations. So basically, the core genetic make up of the human race was forever tainted by the nephilim gene.”
“That’s correct,” I dryly replied. “You’ve evidently done your homework. Good on ya. Fast forwarding a bit then … after the anakim were wiped from the Earth by a combination of the archangels and the great flood, God rebirthed the human race through Noah and his three sons.”
“Yep, got it,” she interjected — again. “But unfortunately, the wife of Noah’s second son, Ham, was secretly carrying the nepher gene and hence the mutation perpetuated in the post flood world.”
“Correct. And I suppose you also know that—”
“In addition to the anakim, five hundred and sixty-three other nepher species exist with various and assorted supernatural traits and unnatural characteristics. Most of the them appear perfectly human until they transform or ‘neph out’ — blah, blah, yada, yada. Can we get to that part and forgo the rest of the history lesson?”
“I’m really liking her,” Rooster said smiling.
“Shut up,” I grumbled. “Don’t encourage this behavior. It’s intolerable.”
“Ahem. Anytime now, professor. I’m ready to shoot something.”
“Right,” I said, making the mental note that Erin may need some anger management therapy down the road. “Let’s skip the tell and get right to the show. Shall we?”
“About damn time,” she said, taking off her leather jacket and donning the various and assorted implements of arcane combat.
“Get ready for an up close and personal introduction to a few of the more terrifying things that go bump in the night,” Rooster declared.
“Who should we bring out first?” I asked.
“Usual suspects. Lychaon, and draugrs, and varangian.”
“Come again?” Erin asked.
“Werewolves, and vampires, and bear monster thingys,” I muttered.
As if on cue, three daunting figures then emerged from the shadows of the towering arena wall roughly a hundred yards to our immediate front.
Ominously smiling at us, they simultaneously rolled their heads back on their shoulders while somehow still shooting us a series of glares that would make the average man piss himself.
“Oh, my,” Erin said, taking note as our new friends started charging at us with unnatural speed while morphing into a macabre variety of otherworldly beasties.
“Oh, frigg’n my,” I confirmed, pulling my shotgun from its holster and willing the argent metal gauntlets into being around my hands.
“Which one is which?”
“Well, the cool breeze in the wife beater tee that just turned into the Werewolf of London wannabe—is a lychaon. The fangy professor looking jackass in the tweed jacket and goofy spectacles — is a draugr. And the leather clad evil Hooters girl with tattoos and the snarling Yogi head — is a varangian.”
“What?”
“It really doesn’t matter, Doc. Just start shooting. And watch where you’re pointing that Rooster mace.”
“Nepheralyzer,” Rooster corrected.
“Whatever.”
Chapter 9
“So, that could have gone better,” I grumbled, seated at my usual stool at the Quartermaster wearing my signature RayBan aviators. With my eyesight nothing more than a blurry haze, I unsuccessfully groped for the frosty beer that I knew was somewhere on the bar in front of me.
“I totally had that situation under control,” Erin chirped from the seat next to me, sliding the mug closer to my hands.
“Is that you, Doc? Sounds like you, but something about getting blasted in the face with 1.21 gigawatts of spectral radiation has my eyesight a bit on the dull side.”
“Well, maybe next time you’ll stay out of my line of fire. You’re damn lucky I only hit you with the Rooster Ray and not a bullet.”
Laying it on thick, I muttered, “Would you be so kind as to spare some change for a poor, blind, semi-divine super soldier?”
“Knock it off. Quit acting like such a puss. Could have been worse.”
“I second that,” Rooster said, hobbling past us with both hands on his ass and smelling exceptionally foul. “I’d much rather have been blinded than nepheralyzed.”
“But on the bright side,” I said, trying my damnedest to hold back a smirk, “That stuff really works, man. I mean, when Doc squirted that varangian in the face with the nepher mace, you were nowhere in the general vicinity and it still smoked you like a cheap cigar.”
“Yes. Yes, it did. I’m going to take a shower now. A long shower.”
“I’m really sorry about that, John,” Erin said, very apologetically.
“Not your fault,” Rooster painfully replied, still wincing from the after effects of being inadvertently doused with his own arcane bio weapon. “It seems the Nepheralyzer serum has a slightly wider potency radius than I anticipated. Either that, or I over pressurized the canisters and the jet nozzles need calibrating.”
“That must’ve hurt like hell,” I said, reveling in the moment. “I, unfortunately, missed the whole show due to having my eyeballs fried by Doc’s frigg’n tac light but it sounded pretty gruesome. One of these days you’ll have to tell me how it felt to have every muscle in your body turn to bone as your bowels instantaneously blew out. I mean, that’s some seriously medieval shit — no pun intended, of course.”
“I’m really hating you right now,” he muttered, slowly moving toward the back of the bar.
“Will you shut up already?” Erin grunted, under her breath as she thumped me on the back of the head.
“Right,” I snickered. “Go get a nice hot shower, buddy. I’d recommend extra soap and maybe a fire hose. And you’ll probably want to burn those clothes. Pretty rank.”
“If you say another word to him I swear I’ll shoot you.”
“Okay, okay.”
Still chuckling to myself, the after effects of the Rooster Ray wore off and my vision snapped back into full focus just in time to see Rooster flipping me off as he waddled through a door behind the bar.
“Back to the topic of the Dreghorn,” Erin said, grabbing her beer and taking a healthy slug. “You didn’t need to step in. I totally had that situation under control.”
“In all seriousness — Yo
u did good, Doc. That was pretty smooth how you set up the draugr and lychaon for head shots before they flanked you.”
“Which one was which again?”
“The Teenwolf wannabe was a lychaon.”
“So, the samurai sword twirling jackass with the fangs and creepy gray skin was a draugr?”
“You got it.”
“Werewolves and vampires,” she chuckled. “The stuff of legend and eighties movies.”
“Don’t get me started. So, I always knew you could shoot but where the hell did you learn to move like that?”
“A solid decade of spending my free time with the Boston P.D. S.W.A.T., not to mention a few fringe paramilitary organizations I visited here and there.”
“Are you being serious?”
“Hell yeah, I’m being serious.”
“Why in the hell did you feel compelled to do that?”
“Really? After bearing witness to the unholy freak show in that church fourteen years ago, how could I not come to the conclusion that extreme self defense skills were a bit of a priority in the event I ever ran into another cannibalistic hulk? I mean, it’s not like I had you around anymore.”
“Fair enough,” I muttered, as her words cut like a knife, and my mind instantly flashed back to the Bosnian village of Brezovo Polje where this whole shit show started.
Azazel, masquerading as the Serbian warlord Goran Petrovich, found himself in need of a skilled physician to give birth to the new generation of anakim he’d fathered in the back drop of the Bosnian War in 1998. And unfortunately, Erin was in the area on a humanitarian mission and was subsequently baited into his shithole of a refugee camp under the guise of helping injured women and children. As such, she had a very unfortunate front row seat to a harrowing series of arcane events that unfortunately culminated in my mortal death.
More importantly, I now realized that I wasn’t the only one that entered a new phase of existence that night. In her own way, Erin had done the same damn thing.
The real cosmic irony with this whole dealio was that as abruptly as our paths diverged fourteen years ago, they’d once again united. To what point or purpose was yet to be revealed.
Making the mental note that perhaps there was a bit of credibility to Mariel’s whole destiny concept after all, I decided to move on before I started likening things to Gefilte fish and talking like Linda Richmond. Oy vey.
“Well, whoever you trained with — did you justice. And you can still shoot with the best of them.”
“I would’ve popped that bear monster biker bitch too if someone hadn’t got in the freaking way.”
“To be fair,” I protested, “The varangian had you dead to rights. I was just trying to slow her down a bit. You were inches from being on the wrong end of a grizzly sammich. Trust me — I’ve been there, and it’s not pleasant. Good thing you used the Nepheralyzer when you did. It was about to get ugly. I mean, it still got pretty ugly for Rooster but he’ll be alright … as soon as he stops shitting himself.”
“My ass,” she grumbled, clearly not happy that I felt the need to intervene with her nepher training session.
“More like his ass,” I chuckled.
“Seriously, I didn’t need your help. I can take care of myself quite well nowadays.”
“Duly noted. I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but since we’re like officially dating and all—”
“I will seriously punch you in the face if you finish that sentence.”
“Gotcha.”
“So, from the perspective of a battle hardened Army Ranger turned undead, mystical giant slayer — did I pass the test?”
“That wasn’t a test, Doc. It was a training exercise. And the first of many for that matter. You’ve got a lot to learn before taking on the real dealio.”
“Well, what about the anakim?”
“What about them?”
“How exactly do you fight a giant?”
“You don’t,” I said, locking eyes with her. “You see one — you get the hell out of Dodge. Period. End of story.”
“What if I’m done running?”
“Then you might just find yourself done living.”
“So you don’t think I’m combat ready?” She asked with a marked edge.
“Here’s to hoping we never have to find out,” I said, clinking my mug against hers and taking a gulp.
“And if we do?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind having you and those pistolas watching my back. That is, of course, if you stay behind me … and give me ample warning before using those light saber things.”
“I believe you’re referring to the Rooster Ray.”
“I’m not calling it that. It’s a stupid frigg’n name. But, speaking of the Rooster, whenever he regains positive control of his sphincter — you need to get him to fit you out with some body armor. Nothing tacky though. And don’t show too much skin.”
“Deal,” she said, taking a sip of beer while gazing around the completely empty Quartermaster. “So, everyone is out hunting for Azazel and his cronies?”
“Yep.”
“Are thousands of eighteen-foot, semi-clothed giant men with bad teeth and the propensity to eat people seriously that difficult to track down?”
“You’d be surprised,” I grumbled. “And unfortunately, anakim aren’t the only beasties in Azazel’s employ.”
“Rooster told me a little bit about his army — he called it the Maradim.”
“Correct. But it’s not so much an army as it is a militant organization of miscreant nephers loyal to him. In addition to the rogue gothen he recruits as monster muscle, there’s an entire global network of sleeper cells tactically situated in every aspect of society — bankers, lawyers, industry leaders, political figures, etc.”
“That’s, ah, freaking terrifying.”
“Yep. Once a nepher bears the mark of the Maradim — he, she, or it is veiled from the all-seeing eye of the Heavens and basically falls off the Guild’s radar.”
“So they just blend right into day to day life until they’re activated?”
“Or they do something that catches our attention.”
“And then what?”
“Then we pay their sorry ass a visit of the not so friendly persuasion. Deacons maintain the Balance on Earth between mankind and the bastard offspring of Heaven. It’s kind of our thing.”
“So I’ve heard,” she replied, taking it all in surprisingly well. “And how’s that working out for you?”
“Well, the pay sucks. Company is questionable at best — although I must admit it’s drastically improved as of late. But, there’s all the beer I can drink and I get to travel to some exotic places. Now granted, there’s typically a shit pot of unnatural beasties trying to kill me, again, in all those places but there you go …”
“Sounds a lot like the Army.”
“It does,” I chuckled. “To be fair, I’ve only really been at this for a couple weeks. The concept of time doesn’t exactly work the same between Earth and Heaven. And I sort of lost a decade and a half after getting my ass handed to me in Bosnia. Long story.”
“Heard about that too,” she said. “You know you slept through two Red Sox World Series championships—”
“Yes,” I grunted. “I’m fully aware. Really appreciate you pouring a barrel of salt on that open wound though.”
“Right, sorry. Anyway, Rooster said he visited you everyday for fourteen years while you were getting your mojo back in the Water of Life.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
“I thought it was pretty sweet, actually.”
“I’m going with creepy.”
“You would.”
Leaning over the bar and refilling our mugs, she said, “So, what’s this I’m hearing about you going to see the archangels? Is that for real?”
“Yep.”
“As in — the archangels? Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel?”
“There’s actually seven of them.”
“Who are the other ones?”
“Remiel, Raguel, and Saraqael. But, as I understand it, they’re sort of lackeys to the big four. Together they make up the seraphic court.”
“So you’re going to see them despite the fact everybody thinks that one of them is actually the traitor working with Azazel?”
“That’s the plan.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good plan.”
“It’s quite possibly the worst plan — ever. But it’s all we’ve got at the moment.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Soon as Stephen comes back to fetch me — which I thought would’ve happened already to be honest with you. It’s got to be after sunrise by now. What frigg’n time is it?”
“A quarter to six.”
“Shit. Twelve hours left to sort this shit show out.”
“Where did Stephen go?”
“To set up the meet and greet with Gabriel and the God squad. Evidently showing up to Tenth Heaven unannounced is frowned upon in the Establishment. Although—”
The flutter of massive wings accompanied by the unsettling feeling we were no longer alone caused me to instantly stop talking. Spinning around on my stool, I was more than surprised to find three blonde statuesque, male model-like characters donning a surreal assortment of glinting plated armor, white linen tunics, and ginormous He-Man swords staring back at me.
“Dean Robinson,” said one of the life-size Masters of the Universe action figures, with a peculiar accent and distinct air of superiority.
“Hey, guys,” I said, taking particular note of their otherworldly blue eyes, chiseled faces, and pure white auras. “Nice outfits. If you’re looking for Skeletor, he doesn’t work here anymore. We caught him stealing scones from the kitchen and summarily ran him out of town. Sorry. Is there anything else we can help you with today?”
“You are to come with us,” said the mysterious angel, clearly not appreciating my sarcasm.
Rising to my feet, I said, “And who the hell are you?”
“I am Remiel,” he replied, clearly annoyed that I had the gall to ask. “These are my brothers Raguel and Saraqael.”
Wrath of the Fallen: The Guild of Deacons, Book 2 Page 7